” Chapter XXXII SIX MONTHS AFTER Up the moss-grown path, where the rose bushes run wild, almost met, came Anna in a spotless white gown, with the flush of her early morning walk in her cheeks, and something of the brightness of it in her eyes. He flung aside all his talk of help and disinterested friendship as though it had never been even a disguise between them, as though from the first it was no more than a fancy dress they had put quite understandingly upon their relationship. ‘Gérard, do not go,’ she cried, breathless. One can learn and understand only by personal experience, by actual contact with the realities of life. Austin, or any man of similar dimensions, would have found wholly impossible. But what a monster was this Emile. I begin to understand Jane Austen and chintz covers and decency and refinement and all the rest of it. "We must change the subject," remarked Thornhill, pausing in his task; "this will never do.
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